Page 83 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
“If you stare at her any longer, Marcus,” Cato starts, “someone besides me is going to figure you out.”
“I already have,” Alessandra admits unabashedly.
Marcus’s pulse quickens as the drum beats once and a new fight begins. “What are you talking about?”
“Anyone close to you would have to be blind not to see it.” Cato whispers, “You care for her.”
“Of course, I do—she’s one of my oldest friends.”
“Well, I’m your friend, and you don’t look at me like that. Not that I wouldn’t be flattered, but you’re not my type.”
Two women fight each other now, both with red arm bands. One moves too fast for the other; if Marcus were to guess, the second woman is an Imperium slave, without a single ounce of muscle or fat on her.
“And if it were true?” he finally asks. “That I care for her?”
“Then I’d have to tell you, you’ve chosen well. But we’re all in this now, and I feel it’s important you remember, as of this moment, only two people can win.”
Marcus shakes his head. “We’re sticking to the plan, Cato. Dru doesn’t change that.”
“Maybe she should,” Cato argues, lowering his voice. “Perhaps we need a new plan.”
Marcus doesn’t respond so they won’t be overheard; he barely feels comfortable speaking about it in private.
The crowd cheers, and the drum sounds for the end of the next round that started without him realizing it. A Durevolian woman limps away, while her Phaedran opponent needs help off the ground, blood dripping down his arm.
Marcus crosses his arms nervously. “What are the chances they’re going to pair Dru up with a Phaedran man?”
Cato grasps his hands in front of him. “If the first few rounds are any indication, very high. But they think she’s a Durevolian servant—despite claiming it’s random, they’ll have curated the pairing based on that assumption.”
Marcus stares down at the blood-spattered dirt. “I hope you’re right.”
The drum beats twice, and Dru steps into the arena.
She’s pulled her hair back with a leather strap, her sleeveless beige tunic tight around her waist. She walks out confidently, her shoulders slinged back, arms loose at her sides.
Her opponent mirrors her from their side, red band blazing from his arm.Fools. She might’ve considered being lenient if it were a Durevolian, but pitting her against a Phaedran means she’ll show no mercy. He’s of average height and build, his hair cut short but not to the scalp. His lack of grand musculature leads Marcus to believe he’s not from the capital but instead from a prosperous city nearby enough for him to train and eat well.
Cato breaks into his thoughts. “If you noticed, I didn’t retain Dru’s suggestion about keeping one’s feet on the ground.”
Marcus keeps his eyes locked on Dru, not wanting to let her out of his sight for a moment. “I did notice.”
After the next drum beat, Dru sprints at the man. He crouches, planting his feet hard into the ground. Marcus grins, knowing she doesn’t plan to hit him straight-on.
Closing in on him, she fakes going hard to the left—her opponent falls for the move. She’s quick enough to swiftly change direction, planting her left foot into the dirt to give herself enough momentum.
Unable to help himself, Marcus leans over the edge of the balcony to get a better look, fingers gripping the hard stone. He remembers teaching her this move when he had less muscle to weigh him down; it took her months to get it right.
The man stumbles at the change in direction, not quick enough to correct his mistake. Dru takes advantage.
Keeping pace, she leaps off the ground and flies around his right shoulder, striking him in the neck with the outside of her hand. He stumbles to the side, stunned but remaining upright, grasping his neck with a trembling hand. She lands behind him and pivots on her heel, dust pluming around her. Pushing off the ball of her right foot, she strikes her final blow in a punch to the man’s back. She hits her mark with perfect precision, instantly bringing him to his knees.
A moment later, he’s curled up in a ball on the arena floor, gasping for air as the crowd explodes with cheers and applause for Dru. Pride swells inside Marcus’s chest.
“Looks as if Drusilla noticed it as well,” Cato murmurs.
Dru glances up at their balcony, finding Marcus. A wide smile stretches across her lips as she exits the arena. His heart lightens at her elation, and he finds a smile stretching across his own face in return.
“My gods, she’s an impressive woman,” Alessandra breathes.
